


Smol Bean

by TheSaddleman



Series: Smol Bean [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Coffee, Cookies, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Modeling, No Angst, Photo Shoot, Skiing, canon complaint, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:51:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7878979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaddleman/pseuds/TheSaddleman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clara Oswald is enlisted by her friend Nina to take part in a magazine photo shoot, she convinces the Doctor to help her out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smol Bean

**Author's Note:**

> This fluffy story is set during Series 9, but before the events of "The Zygon Inversion." It was inspired by two things: a photo manipulation posted to Tumblr and Deviant Art by Dreameater1988 (http://whouffaldi-fans.deviantart.com/art/Whouffaldi-Cosy-Afternoon-600395317) and a later manipulation of that manipulation that I uploaded to my own Tumblr using a template on the app Photo Lab (http://anotheruserwithnoname.tumblr.com/post/149508529124/a-magazine-cover-im-sure-wed-love-to-see-show-up)

“Oh come on, Doctor, it’ll be fun.”

“No, Clara, I absolutely refuse!” The Doctor sat in an armchair in Clara Oswald’s flat, his arms crossed like a petulant little boy whose mum was trying to get him to go to the dentist or eat steamed broccoli.

Clara came out of the bathroom, tying her hair into a stylish ponytail. Her make-up somewhat more pronounced than usual. She wore a yellow blouse and black skirt with her customary dark-coloured leggings.

“Listen, it’s not like you have to take your clothes off or anything,” she said. “I remember how you reacted the last time _that_ idea came up.” (Clara had found out the hard way that, while the Doctor had no problem visiting ancient war zones, the end of time, the beginning of time, Skaro, Derren Brown’s home, planets made of ferns, stars made of diamond, he drew the line at nude beaches. She’d never gone to one before and thought it might be fun, made the suggestion, and it took three days of searching the TARDIS before she found where he was hiding.)

“Do I look like a male model to you?” the Doctor fumed back.

“Okay, I’m sorry I mentioned it. It’s just my friend Nina has got this job freelancing for a … magazine … and she needs to build up her portfolio. I’ve done a bit of modelling here and there — no, really, I have,” she said as the Doctor’s jaw dropped. It was always great that she could still surprise him. (Like when he found out in Ashildr’s Viking village that she’d once wielded a sword in battle. He’d been badgering her ever since to ’fess up about when she did that. Her response — “I don’t just have adventures on Wednesdays with you” — didn’t help matters any. Some day she’d tell him, after a few drinks.)

“What type of modelling?”

“You know … portraits, hand-modelling, nudes.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “Nu…nu…?”

“One of those was a lie; can you guess which one?” The Doctor cocked his eyebrow at her in undisguised relief (or was it disappointment? She’d been meaning to write down what his myriad facial expressions meant, an idea she stole from the Doctor). She’d been waiting to use that line on him ever since she’d met Missy in Spain, and his reaction was worth it. Clara took a quick glance at hands she never really cared for and certainly didn’t want spotlighted in photos and decided she’d spare him the truth for now. Another story for after a few drinks.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! Nina needs me to pose for a few photos with a bloke and the only other guys I know these days work at the school and that might cause issues, and it’s summer break anyway so they’ve all scattered to the four winds. Think of it as another kind of adventure, except with people shooting cameras at you instead of ray guns.”

“What kind of photos are we talking about?” the Doctor asked warily.

“Just us doing stuff. Nothing too wild. Drinking coffee, sitting at tables, doing, uh, domestic things.”

“Now, Clara, you know I don’t do domestic.”

“What about that time you entered that baking contest and nearly blew off my invitation to the Halloween fund-raiser for Danny’s computer lab at Coal Hill?”

“First, I wouldn’t have blown anything off if you’d told me it was for PE,” the Doctor said as he met Clara’s gaze for a moment. She gave him a quick, sad smile at that memory; his regret was genuine. “Second … uh … OK, you got me there. I just felt like trying something new.”

“There, you see? Modelling — that’s trying something new. Who knows, you might like it. Your mother-in-law used to model, didn’t she?”

“Amy was different. She was … modelly. And she didn’t look like a grey-haired stick insect.”

“You’ll be fine. Honest. You’re a … very well-preserved grey-haired stick insect.”

The Doctor sulked for a moment, but made the fatal mistake of looking into a pair of puppy dog-pleading eyes that would put that cat from the _Shrek_ movies to shame, and he sighed. “Oh, alright. But I will not drop trou. I am a trou-drop-free zone. I am holier than trou, I…”

“Let’s go before you say a pun you’ll really regret. Hey — where are you going?”

The Doctor was halfway through the door of his TARDIS. “We usually, you know, _vwoorp! vworrp!_ and all that.”

“Well we’re not going to _vwoorp! vwoorp!_ today, my friend,” Clara said as she shouldered a coat on. “Nina’s studio is just a couple blocks away. Knowing the TARDIS, we’d probably end up being chased by Draconians or in the middle of the Battle of Agincourt and I don’t want to have to redo my makeup. We’ll walk.”

“Walking’s for pudding brains,” the Doctor muttered as he clicked the TARDIS door shut and followed Clara out into the hallway.

For the next ninety seconds, the TARDIS sat alone in Clara’s flat, softly humming. Trying to come up with ideas to amuse herself while Her Thief was out gallivanting with the One with the Eyes. Again. Binge-watching all the seasons of _NCIS_ came to mind. She liked Gibbs, who reminded her of Her Thief.

She also took a few attoseconds to scan the Internet for images from the One with the Eyes’ so-called “modelling career,” finding sufficient fodder for her next practical joke on the human.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to amuse herself for long as, when the aforementioned ninety seconds had elapsed, Clara and the Doctor returned to the flat.

“You could have told me it was bucketing rain,” Clara muttered.

“Clara, have you forgotten how to use a window?” the Doctor smirked back, aiming a thumb at the glass which — in Clara’s defence — was obscured by the thick curtains she’d installed after the TARDIS’ flashing light was once misinterpreted as an electrical fire by someone looking up from the outside.

“Shut up,” she groaned as she headed to the TARDIS and opened it with her key. “I’m only doing this because you have a tendency to look like Grumpy Cat when you get wet. Just make sure we get there this morning, not a hundred years from now, right?”

“Yes, boss,” the Doctor said as he followed her in.

***

“Where the hell is she?” Nina asked her assistant, who, not being psychic (a trait cloaked Zygons didn’t really have) just shrugged. 

Nina had known Clara since university and at one point considered herself Clara’s best friend. At least until a few years before when Clara started taking up with a nerdy-looking fellow who liked to wear bow ties; he was a scientist or something who Clara just called the Doctor. He was probably the one who got Clara her low-paying job at Coal Hill, too. Nina had a chance to meet him once at a party to celebrate Clara getting her job. Nina thought he looked all right and the way the Doctor doted on Clara was almost embarrassing.

After a while, Clara apparently broke it off with the Doctor and took up with a teacher from school named Danny. That lasted for a while, but Nina knew their relationship had chinks in the armour the one time Clara and Danny went for drinks with Nina and her girlfriend and they spent most of the time arguing about the Doctor. Nina was hardly the poster child for OTPs, but she could tell when someone’s heart belonged to someone else, and Clara clearly had it tight for the Doctor. Danny really never stood a chance.

Later, after Danny died, Clara had wasted no time getting back together with the Doctor, so Nina had heard. Classic rebound, Nina had thought. That was several years ago, but they seemed to still be together as Clara kept talking about him, though Nina hadn’t met the Doctor since that party. Clara said she was going to bring him for the photoshoot. He might be a bit tweed-heavy, Nina had thought, but we’ll fix that.

“Sorry, I’m late,” Clara said as she stalked through the door of the studio accompanied by a rather stern-faced older gentleman with grey hair. “ _Someone_ got lost.”

Clara glared at the older man who sputtered a little as he said, “It’s not my fault, Clara. There was a time eddy and stuff happened. At least you got to see a cool dinosaur fight, didn’t y- _ooh, cookies_ …” and he was off to a table where some food had been laid out, without introducing himself to Nina or her assistant.

“Clara, who is that? I thought you were bringing the Doctor, not your uncle.”

“That is the Doctor, Nina,” Clara said, inwardly kicking herself for forgetting that Nina was one of a handful of her friends not “in the know” who met the Doctor before his regeneration.

“He’s kind of let himself go, hasn’t he?” Nina asked, as kindly as she could manage. She’d seen that happen before with guys who got into drugs and drink and high-pressure careers. For a moment, she worried that Clara might have entered into the same type of rough lifestyle that aged people prematurely, though she still looked as gorgeous as ever, albeit she’d obviously been working out as her body had become rather leaner than she remembered from uni days. Nina had no complaints: Clara looked amazing. But as for the Doctor…

“No offence, Clara, but he’s a little older-looking than what I had in mind.”

“Why?” Clara asked, point-blank. “Is there an expiry date on men?”

“No, it’s just … the age difference might…”

“Who gives a damn about age differences these days, Nina? It’s not like we’re really married anyway, right?”

Both women turned as the Doctor started choking on a cookie. “Oops,” Clara whispered.

“Married? What’s going on here, Clara?” he said, his mouth still full of oatmeal.

“Nina’s … doing a photo shoot for a weddings magazine. And she needs a couple for, uh, the cover.”

The Doctor stopped chewing.

“Uh, Nina, could you give us a moment?”

Nina nodded and pretended to busy herself with a camera. _This could be entertaining_ , she thought.

Clara and the Doctor moved over into a corner of the studio.

“You never said this was going to be for a cover, Clara. Of a magazine. A magazine people will buy. Download. Line birdcages with,” the Doctor growled. “Private snapshots, test photos, okay, fine. I don’t do magazine covers.”

“Doctor, please, the female model Nina hired for this got arrested last night and the male model broke his arm. This is her big break and she’s got a deadline and I’m just trying to help a friend. Seriously, no one will recognize you. No one’s expecting to see you on the cover of _Weddings_ magazine.”

“I’ve saved planets, worlds, civilizations, time itself. A while ago, I even created an immortal, for better or for worse. _And_ I nearly got you to make a soufflé proper– _ow!_ ” The Doctor rubbed his bicep where Clara had punched it. “Posing for magazine cover, I mean, that’s not …”

…the puppy dog eyes stared up at him again ...

“…not that big a deal, really, I guess. I could do it in my sleep. I mean, I might even take a catnap while we’re at it. It’ll be a doddle.”

Clara smiled up at the Doctor and stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. As her lips were about to meet his face…

_Flash. Pop._

“Oops! Sorry,” Nina said. “My flash misfired.”

***

“What the hell is this I’m wearing?” the Doctor grumbled. The puppy dog eyes might have convinced him to go through with this madness, but he still reserved the right to complain. “It’s itchy and it looks like a rainbow-coloured unicorn vomited on it!”

The Doctor and Clara were outfitted in matching multicoloured sweaters and jeans. The Doctor had grumbled about the jeans, too, complaining they were too tight. Clara and Nina hadn’t said a word though, a few moments later, Clara finally got Nina to admit (out of the Doctor’s earshot) that he was indeed a well-preserved grey-haired stick insect.

That said, Clara had to admit the sweaters were, indeed, rather ugly. But the theme of the cover was supposed to be “midwinter cozy,” and what was cozier than two people who love each other so much they can overlook the fact they’re wearing the ugliest sweaters ever created?

“I used to have a scarf that looked like this,” the Doctor mused as he and Clara took their places on a set that looked like a mountain ski lodge. Nina’s assistant explained he’d borrowed some props and furniture from a West End production company he worked with, as the Doctor and Clara tried their best to look casual standing by a faux-fireplace. (As the assistant helped position them, Clara noticed the Doctor make eye contact with the man, putting his finger to the side of his nose and winking. Oh, the assistant was one of _those_ , was he? Clara thought. Cool!) She moved to lean against the fireplace but noticed it shifted with the slightest touch.

“Nina,” Clara said as she ran a finger across what at first glance looked like brick. “This is just Styrofoam. Is this going to look any good in the photo? And where’s the fire?”

“It’s just for reference. I’ll _PhotoShop_ in a proper fireplace later. Plus a window with snow. It’ll be great. Now get looking romantic, you two.”

“What the hell does that mean,” the Doctor asked Clara. “Am I supposed to put on a romantic face? I only regenerate every few years, Clara; this is the only face I’ve got.”

“It’s a perfectly fine face. Now here’s what I want you to do,” Clara said softly as she sidled in close so Nina couldn’t eavesdrop. “Just look at me the way you do in the TARDIS.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Doctor, we’re friends. Have been for a long time. That face you’re showing now—it’s the face you show people who aren’t your friends. People you don’t know. Romance is just another form of friendship, right? So look at me the way you do in the TARDIS.”

“I often look at you grumpily in the TARDIS, like when you rope me into doing things like helping your students with their history assignments or posing for the cover of _Married Pudding Brains Magazine_.”

“It’s in your eyes, Doctor. Yes, you get grumpy, but we know each other too well. I yell at you too, but you know it’s just venting, right?”

“It is?”

“Well, most of the time. After the thing with the moon-egg creature, okay, that was real. But most of the time it’s just me letting off steam. And I know it’s the same with you. Your eyes give it away every time. I know that face too well. Now look at me, Doctor. And cheer up. Think of a huge bag of jelly babies or something.”

“Something,” the Doctor mumbled as he looked at her intently, and with that his eyes did appear to take on a lighter shade of grumpy, his eyebrows lost their furrow. If she didn’t know any better, Clara might have thought he actually started to look happy.

“Better move fast, Nina. No telling how long this will last,” Clara laughed.

Nina’s assistant handed Clara and the Doctor two wine glasses filled with Sprite (reflects the light better, the cloaked Zygon offered) and the two friends made as to raise a toast to each other.

_Flash. Pop._

***

To both the Doctor and Clara’s relief, Nina pronounced the unicorn-vomit sweaters weren’t inspiring her, and for the next set-up had them switch into primary-coloured midwinter wear that at least didn’t make their corneas bleed. 

The models moved to another small set that was draped with rolls of white paper next to a plastic Christmas tree _sans_ baubles and lights that had been spray-painted white. With a clatter, Nina’s assistant dropped a pair of skis on the floor in front of the Doctor, who had wrestled on a pair of ill-fitting ski boots. 

“What am I supposed to do with these?” the Doctor asked, gesturing to the narrow wooden planks that looked like they’d seen better days.

“You’re supposed to put them on,” Clara said.

“Here? There isn’t even any real snow.”

Nina looked out from behind her Leica. “There will be once I…”

“… _PhotoShop_ it in, I get it,” the Doctor completed. As he popped his boots into the skis, Clara heard him, _sotto voce_ , “Maybe you can _PhotoShop_ some other dunderhead’s face over mine while you’re at it…”

“Doctor, behave,” Clara said. “So Nina, what would you like us to do?”

“Piggyback ride,” the photographer said.

“Piggyback-what-now?” the Doctor said. “No, no, I draw the line. And that’ll make a stupid-looking photo. Can’t we get someone to dress up like a Yeti? Give me a minute and I can have a costume whipped up that’ll be perfect in every way. Have him chasing us down the mountain, wouldn’t that be more fun, Clara?”

Actually, she thought, that photo _would_ rock. But they weren’t posing for the cover of the _Fortean Times_. “Stick to business. Now, I just need to … Doctor, you’re too tall. Can you slouch down a bit, please?”

The Doctor slouched down a bit.

“You’re still too high. Slouch lower.”

The Doctor slouched down lower.

“OK, that’s better and now … hey, I’m just sliding off! You’re supposed to hold onto my legs.”

“Am I?”

“Oh my stars, don’t tell me you’ve never given anyone a piggyback ride before.”

The Doctor shrugged. “It’s possible I knew once and deleted the information along with my memories of us going to see _Batman vs. Superman_.”

“Well, I put my arms around your neck, I jump a little and you hold my legs. It’s simple.”

“It’s a bit intimate, isn’t it?”

“It can be, but I’m wearing jeans, you’re fully clothed, and we’re not in Ancient Rome. So today, it’s not.”

“Okay, okay,” the Doctor said. “Climb up.”

With the Doctor properly cradling her, Clara felt quite comfortable. To her relief, he hadn’t made a remark about her weight (though to be honest, he’d stopped doing that around the same time he’d taken up hugging and playing thrash guitar solos). 

“Okay, folks,” Nina began, “we’re replicating something I saw on an old James Bond movie poster. Doctor, bend your knees and pretend to be skiing down the mountain at full speed. You’re being chased by bad guys and you’ve lost your ski poles. Clara is the Bond girl you’re rescuing…”

“…by using her as a human shield against the guys firing at me from behind?” the Doctor interjected. “Sounds like love to me.”

“It’s called suspension of disbelief,” Nina said. “Like how villains always waste time explaining their plots to the heroes, giving them time to figure out a way to escape and foil their plan. Never happens for real, right?”

The Doctor could feel Clara laughing as she buried her head on his shoulder. “Don’t you start,” he said with a smile. “Remember, if they ever figure that out, we’re out of business.”

“OK, let’s do this. Clara, eyes to me. Big smile. Doctor, give us that James Bond look. Lots of eyebrows.”

“I only have the two. Isn’t that enough?”

_Flash. Pop._

***

“This seems like a lot of trouble to go through for one cover photo,” the Doctor said as he willed himself not to take a sip of the rather inviting cup of coffee Nina’s assistant had handed him. Clara was holding a second cup. If there was one thing he’d learned in the aftermath of more than twenty million Zygons being integrated into Earth culture, it was the fact they seemed to have an innate ability to make damn fine cups of coffee.

“Normally we don’t bother actually filling the cups, but I thought it might add to the mood,” Nina said airily, hiding her concern that her photo shoot was turning into a fiasco. 

The fireplace set-up had been a bit of a bust; the Doctor looked awkward and the sweaters had truly been a mistake. The James Bond ski set-up looked fun on paper, but when she checked the digital images afterwards she realized they both looked too serious, almost as if this was something they were used to doing. The other set-ups they tried out were similarly awkward — charmingly so, and Nina was heartened to see the Doctor finally starting to have something resembling fun, but none of them were cover material.

The studio rental only had another hour or so on it and the props were due back at their respective theatres that night. They only had one more chance, really, to nail a suitable cover shot, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to fulfill the gig.

The Doctor stood wearing a casual grey shirt with long sleeves; Clara had switched to a rather stylish light-plaid T-shirt. It was actually a men’s shirt; the concept for the shot being the couple had reached the point where they were sharing clothes (Nina had jokingly suggested the Doctor don a blouse and was puzzled when he actually agreed to put one on. She said he could stick with the grey shirt.) Nina figured she’d only need a waist-up image, so Clara had slipped on the skirt she’d worn when she’d arrived, though she decided not to waste time for now pulling on the dark-blue leggings.

Nina paced the set — this time just a simple couch with a cozy-looking grey wool blanket thrown over it — trying to get inspiration. “I hate to say it, guys, but I’m out of ideas. I mean, just having you sitting there, sipping coffee, it just doesn’t pop, does it?”

Clara couldn’t stop herself from yawning. It had been a long day and she hadn’t really had much of a break except when she was changing clothes in the loo.

“I need something to wake me up,” Clara said, eyeing the coffee so tantalizingly before her.

“OK, go ahead and have your coffee. I’m going to go outside and take a little bit of fresh air, clear my head, and see if I get any inspiration,” Nina said as she put down her camera and skulked out of the studio, her frustration undisguised.

As Nina opened the door to leave, a cold breeze from the still-rainy London street outside came shooting into the studio and gave Clara a chill. 

“ _Brrr…_ ” she said.

“I didn’t think people ever actually said, ‘ _Brrr…_ ’” the Doctor said.

“They do when a sharp wind hits them when they’re wearing a short skirt like this — it’s why I usually wear trousers or leggings on days like today, or when we head out to some distant time or place where central heating might not have been invented yet.” Clara sat down on the couch and wrapped the blanket around her bare legs. The Doctor sat down next to her.

Clara took a small sip of the coffee. She agreed instantly with the Doctor’s assessment of Zygon coffee-brewing skills. 

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“For what?” he said as he took a sip from his own cup.

“Putting up with this. I know this isn’t something you normally do.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’ve never done this before. I’ve posed for paintings, I was even a test subject for Eadweard Muybridge once. I just … not in this body.”

“‘This body,’ Doctor, is perfectly fine,” Clara said. “You did great. You looked great. Seriously. You’re a silver fox, trust me.”

“And you’re a large legume.”

“A large what-now?”

“You know … oh, wait, no … I have that wrong. Small … no, smol. That’s what they say these days, don’t they? S-M-O-L, so much for spelling. And not legume, it’s,” he took a sip of the coffee. Coffee… what is coffee made from? Ah, yes. “Bean. That’s it, you’re a smol bean.”

Clara laughed. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Small and cute.”

Clara smiled up at the Doctor. It wasn’t often that he was so direct with his compliments. Considering that the very concept of “small and cute” likely eluded him only months earlier (the nearest he could manage for a while was “small and roundish, but with a good personality,” and he never did let her live down the fact she had three mirrors on her dressing table. So what if she did?), she saw this as true progress. Maybe it was time I stopped calling him a grey-haired stick insect, too, she thought. 

“Well you know what they say about us ‘smol beans,’” Clara said. “We may be smol, but we’re mighty!”

The Doctor’s face broke out into a wide grin.

“Yes, you are, my Clara,” he said as his companion smiled back at him.

_Flash. Pop._

The two barely noticed the flash at first. Nina had come back in without them noticing and had captured the moment. “Perfect! No _PhotoShop_ for this one.” She headed excitedly towards her laptop at the other end of the studio.

“Mission accomplished,” the Doctor said. “Time to return to the TARDIS, I assume? We still have the whole night ahead of us to get into trouble. I wanted to show you the No-Longer-Lost Moon of Poosh...” He started to get up, but a smol and mighty hand put enough pressure on his knee to make him abort the operation.

“Still chilly. And I think after a day like today we’ve both earned another cup of this Zygon coffee, don’t you?” Even though he didn’t look particularly chilly, Clara decided the Doctor should have a bit of her blanket, so she shifted over and soon his legs were covered, too. 

The Doctor weighed his options and decided, with all of time and the heavens at his disposal, right now sharing a couch, a coffee and a blanket with Clara Oswald ... the heavens could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> A few days after I posted this, Tumblr user Capaldicrazy was kind enough to post a photo manipulation that was inspired by the ski photo shoot in this story. Check it out here, it's cute!: http://capaldicrazy.tumblr.com/post/149699189306/a-photo-inspired-by-anotheruserwithnoname-short
> 
> The small interlude with the TARDIS is inspired by an earlier story of mine, "The One With the Eyes" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/7150601) however this story isn't explicitly set in the same continuity as that one.
> 
> The reference to the Halloween fund-raiser is taken from the Doctor Who Magazine comic strip "Witch Hunt".


End file.
